Not Again
by She Who Shines
Summary: When Susan gets thrown back in time to the most eventful Hogswatch of her life, she must face the most challenging villain she ever has all over again, while Teatime has to bring her back-and avoid the Susan who has no idea who he is. Sequel to Literally.
1. Boredom, THE VOICE, and Tea

**Author's Notes: Hi! If you haven't read _Literally_, I highly recommend you do before you read this, but if for some reason you don't want to I'm sure it's possible to enjoy this without that.**

**First off, I want to make a plea to all writers reading this: please, please, write more Susan/Teatime stories! I've read every last fiction on this site that had to do with them and you could count them on your fingers. That's really why I'm writing this—there just isn't enough.**

**Also, I've started chapter two already, so it should come quickly. I hope you enjoy this—the premise just popped into my head and I since I got such great reviews on my other story I thought I might as well write it.**

**Teatime gets bored, Lobsang sneezes, and Susan gets confused—enjoy!  
**

Chapter One

Boredom, THE VOICE, and Tea

It was a funny combination. In some ways, he'd never been happier. In others, this was the most boring, dull, and dismal part of his existence. _Ever_.

Susan was the best thing that had ever happened to him. She never failed to make him smile, and she was a never ending mystery that occupied his thoughts whenever she was present. It was so hard to tell what she would think or do. He was getting better, though, and he knew now just how to make _her _smile (he loved doing that). But when Susan wasn't there, Jonathon Teatime faced a terrible dilemma. He was _bored_. And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

It's not like he could go to the Assassin's Guild and get an interesting contract. No, not only would Susan be infuriated should she find out (which he thought he could probably avoid, but he knew better than to underestimate the poker-handy-schoolteacher), but that might also count against him in reaching 'the good place' ('the good place'. Really, he would have thought Marly would be more creative than that. Perhaps his dear sister had been dead for too long). The problem was Teatime _lived _for interesting contracts. He found nothing more pleasurable than exercising his brilliantly broken mind, taking every detail in and exploring each and every possible outcome. Well, _almost _nothing. Kissing Susan was, but just barely.

He'd tried merely hypothetical homicides, and though it most definitely soothed him and occupied his mind, it did nothing for his physical urges; his need to clamber and climb, to intimidate and invade. And then there was his knife. His sharp little dagger that Teatime had possessed before he was even nine years old. It had lain idle, useless. Was it really time to put it down?

You see, the Assassin (he still considered himself one, even if he hadn't inhumed anyone in a while) had lived by a certain philosophy since his sister twin sister had been beaten to death and he'd murdered his father in a (failed) attempt to save her life. Since then, he realized that people were like things, and insects—they had their uses, but could be turned against you. Like his knife, for example. It was the very same blade that his father had (be it not _quite _on purpose) gouged out Teatime's eye with. It was also the blade the young boy had wrenched from his bleeding socket and stabbed the man who had done a terrible job at raising him with. That same knife he had used to take _countless _lives.

From this story you should take note that the knife took his eye, and then saved him from his father—therefore betraying its former master. The knife could betray _him_ as well. But if it was still in his grasp, if he still held it, it simply _could not _hurt him. When he needed it no longer, he would put the knife down to pick something else up. Then he would _destroy _the formerly handy blade so it could not turn against him.

It was that logical principle that he had lived by since that terrible day sixteen years ago. Only he hadn't just applied it to objects—he had applied it to _people _as well, and, quite honestly, he couldn't see the difference in doing so. He had been going about his life as such, when Susan had come along and killed him.

Dear, _sweet_,Susan.

Then he'd seen there was _more _to her. _Susan _wasn't just a thing—she was as vibrant and wonderful as his Marly. How he adored his Susan.

But how _bored _he was.

That summer they'd spent together, traveling all across the Disc, had been more _fun _than he could put to words. But then it had ended, and Susan had gone back to work. And while she was gone, he was _bored_.

Bored, bored, bored, bored, _bored._

So it was that one Friday evening he sat in the living room in Susan's apartment, lounging on the couch lazily, counting the seconds until she got back (literally, actually). This really was a problem he would have to solve. He loved Susan so much, and he couldn't imagine living without her, but he couldn't bare this constant boredom. There had to be _some way _he could use his talents without murdering people.

But murdering people was the _fun _part.

Boring, bored, boring, bored, _boring._

And he wouldn't even get Susan to himself today. _Lobsang _was coming over for _tea_. What she liked so much about the Lord of Time he'd never know.

_What kind of a name is _Lobsang?

He'd thought this thought quite often. The problem, of course, being that _he _was named _Teatime_.

Bored, boring, bored, boring, bored,boring, _bored._

Teatime really looked forwards to next summer. They could go to so many _fun_ places and do so many _fun _things and he'd actually have _fun _and wouldn't have to deal with this _boredom._ Still, at least they had their _game_.

Footsteps.

_Susan_.

NO MORE WAITING!!!

Quickly, he slid behind the front door as it swung open.

The game could most definitely be fun.

Susan glanced around suspiciously as she stepped into the entry.

"Where are you hiding, Teatime...?" she wondered quietly as she closed the door behind her, not bothering to turn around. Her eyes carefully scanned the room, checking each and every individual hiding place. Slowly, she walked forwards, glancing carefully around her as she edged towards the fireplace (for anyone who didn't imagine a fireplace here, do you really think Susan would live _anywhere _that didn't have a poker in an easily accessible location?). She didn't notice Teatime pressed against the wall behind her. He found this _terribly _amusing.

Slowly, Susan started to slide the poker out of its stand, when she felt a hand on her wrist, stilling her arm with an unbreakable (but gentle) grip, and heard a soft, high voice in her ear.

"Oh, do put that down, Susan. You aren't planning anything... _dreadful, _are you now...?"

The schoolteacher pursed her lips in agitation.

_Damn_, she thought grumpily.

"Alright, you got me. You can let _go _now, you know."

"I'd really rather not."

She rolled her eyes as Teatime rested his chin on her shoulder and examined her face curiously, sliding his hand from her wrist to her fingers and lacing his into hers. He grinned.

"I'm so happy your back, Susan."

She raised her brows and stepped away, crossing her arms.

"I trust you didn't _kill _anyone while I was away?"

He cocked his head thoughtfully.

"No one of consequence."

"Teatime," she growled.

"No, no I haven't," he sighed, sitting down on the couch slowly.

Susan would have gone to the backroom and made some tea for when Lobsang came, but they still had ten minutes and she was beginning to get good at reading the Assassin. He wasn't his normal chipper self at the moment, and though she was half tempted to go anyway, she sat beside him (sighing in exasperation).

"What is it, Jonathon?" she asked.

"You're getting better," he answered.

Susan blinked. He said random things like that often. It really was very confusing.

"What do you mean?"

"Not this time, but some of the others... you've even actually caught me once or twice."

"You're sidetracking. Teatime, I know you're upset and you're not going to find me willing to talk about it for the rest of your life, so spit it out now if you ever want to."

He raised a brow slowly, but spoke after a few seconds.

"It's terribly... _dull _when you aren't around, Susan. My mind is like any part of the body, any skill—you leave it idle, it will weaken. It has been idle for some time."

"Oh, _no!_" Susan called loudly, standing to her feet. "You don't want another _adventure, _do you?!" the schoolteacher shook her head darkly. NOT HAPPENING! she said in her **Voice**.

Teatime was standing before she had time to blink—_grinning._

"Oh, _the __**Voice**_," he said happily, barely six inches from her.

Susan _glared._

"I don't necessarily need an adventure," the Assassin explained to her frightening gaze. It would have sent chills down any sane man's spine... but then again, Jonathon Teatime really wasn't quite sane. "I just need something to keep me... _occupied. _I've tried just breaking and entering houses, carving little 'T's on the walls, but it's so _easy_. Do you know people hardly even _lock their doors?_"

Susan's eyes widened.

_YOU'VE BEEN BREAKING AND ENTERING!?!?!?! _she shrieked.

Jonathon blinked.

"I didn't _hurt _anyone."

He was hopeless, Susan decided. Hopeless. _Breaking and entering?! _

"It's the _principle _of the thing!" she called, failing to understand how he could fail to understand. "The _principle!_"

He blinked again in confusion, but inside he was smiling. Here was one of those Susan-mysteries/games. Could he make her even more... _emotional?_

"They didn't even notice that the cat was gone," he said innocently.

"The cat!" she screeched, her eye widening in horror. "What did you do to the poor thing?! You said you didn't _hurt—_" about then she noticed to huge, crooked grin sliding across his face. That meant he was teasing her (about the cat, at least). Anger swelled up in her chest, and she pulled back her arm to hit him. He caught it, but didn't expect the high-heel of her boot to come clashing down on his foot. The Assassin's eyes widened before his face broke out in a grin as held his foot, hopping slightly on the other.

"Oh, just lovely, Susan," he said, balancing perfectly on one leg now that he had gotten over the shock. Susan was _learning_. He felt so proud.

The schoolteacher flung her arms in the air.

"I'm making tea!"

And with that, she retreated to the kitchen.

Teatime grinned. Yes, he'd most certainly have to find a way to deal with his boredom. But for now... for now, Susan was more than worth it.

*

Lobsang sneezed again, watching the birds in the sky freeze in time as he did so. He sighed and snapped his fingers, bringing them back to the present. His powers had been very erratic since the whole 'disappearing' incident. Then again, that was the _least _of his worries.

Let's make a list, shall we?

**1. **Susan has a psychokiller for a boyfriend.

**2. **There was a new anthropomorphic personification—a personification of the _**Rules**__, _no less!

**3. **_Susan has a psychokiller for a boyfriend._

**4. **Death had color in his domain. COLOR.

**5. **_Susan had a psychokiller for a boyfriend!_

**6. **A journalist knew who he was. And she wouldn't quit trying to get an interview with him.

_**7. **SUSAN HAD A PSYCHOKILLER FOR A BOYFRIEND, AND HE'S SUPPOSED TO HAVE __**TEA **__WITH HIM TODAY!!!_

As you can see, poor Lobsang was really having a tough time. He sneezed again, then brought the poor girl he'd sent into the last second back to the present.

_I really need to get things back under control_, he thought in agitation. And he wasn't just talking about his powers.

*

There was an up-side to having a psychokiller for a... er, boyfriend. There really was. Like that night someone had attempted to rob her house... Susan most definitely could have handled him on her own, but she hadn't even gotten out of bed when she heard the sounds of shuffling in the hall stop. Just what Teatime had _done _to the poor (yes, he may have been a criminal intending who knows what, but she couldn't help but feel a little sorry for _anyone _who ended up with Teatime's wrath) man, she didn't know (and she didn't think she wanted to). But at least she hadn't had to get out of bed. It was all taken care of quickly and cleanly, and there hadn't even been a blood stain (on her carpet, at least. Teatime had washed his hands directly after, so she wasn't quite sure if there had been blood or not _there_. Susan tried not to think about that).

Then there was the down side. Not only did she have to keep reexplaining morals, and why you didn't kill your boss when he lowered your pay unjustly (she had the sinking suspicion that it went right over his head), but he was bloody well miserable, and she knew it. Bored, and out of practice and _useless _was exactly how he felt, and it hurt her to know that. She understood his emotional state somewhat (as she herself had felt _very _useless when she had been a duchess doing nothing), but the fact that he was feeling so melancholy because he couldn't _kill people _couldn't be described as anything but disturbing.

Well, maybe that wasn't _quite _it. Yes, she had no doubt that he enjoyed 'inhuming' people, but he enjoyed it as one would enjoy a particular board game—it was wonderful, but there were other types that could be just as enjoyable. Or at least she hoped that's how he felt about it.

_She_ was another board game he enjoyed. He'd told her he found her fascinating, that she was a puzzle he could never quite solve. But she was gone six hours a day, and that wasn't including lesson planning, which took many hours in itself. So she couldn't be the game to replace his homicidal habits... Susan shook her head. She just had to find something else that could occupy his mind and give him a challenge—how he loved challenges.

About then Susan realized she had just put the tea on without even thinking. How many times had she put tea on before...?

It was in this thoughtful state that she felt someone slip behind her, rest his chin on her shoulder and slide his arms around her waist.

"Hi," Teatime whispered happily in her ear before he kissed her neck affectionately. Susan's hair reached out towards him like it would a static-ee balloon, but she didn't reprimand it. She'd given up on that_ long _ago. "What are you thinking about?"

Susan sighed and leaned backwards into him, letting Teatime take her full weight—she knew he could handle it. He might be slight compared to most men (barely as tall as she), but he was near as strong as Banjo was.

"You," she said through her sigh.

"That's nice," he whispered in her ear.

"Not like that, Jonathon. This really is a problem."  
"Problem? I don't recall any problems."

"When I'm gone you spend six hours _moping_. That's a problem," she considered not continuing, but relented, "...I don't like you unhappy."

Teatime's already broad, boyish grin widened. He pressed his forehead to the side of hers.

"How... _sweet_," he teased.

Susan rolled her eyes, wishing she could take the words back.

"No, it's not like I _want _you to be happy," she countered, stepping away from and turning to him. "You being so mopy just drives me _nuts_, and since I can't seem to get you out of my house I have to deal with it as long as you're like this."

Teatime and Susan weren't exactly _living _together. He just visited for about eighteen hours a day—_every day_. Where he slept, Susan really didn't know, but he wasn't here always. A couple hours now and then he would go for a walk and wonder Ankh-Morpork doing who-knows what.

Technically, he was supposed to leave at night, but he often ended up staying until after midnight just talking with her. Teatime had some of the most interesting things to say, and Susan thought that if sleep hadn't been a problem, they could talk until dawn and still have plenty of conversation left in them.

And Susan loved him. She didn't know when she had stopped denying it, but she had at some point at last admitted that really did _love him_. He was childish, and brilliant, and (_could be_) sweet, and made her feel special. No one else could make her _proud_ to be Death, Human, Duchess, Teacher, Ex-Governess, and Susan Sto-Helit. Being that made her wonderful in his eyes, and he made that very clear. Susan had always tried to be normal, but with Jonathon she almost felt that being different was okay.

"Don't pretend you don't _like _that you can't get me out your house no matter how hard you try."

Susan rolled her eyes.

The doorbell rang, and Teatime went from chipper to grumpy like _that _(just imagine that a hand popped out of your computer screen and snapped as you read '_that_')

"That must be Lobsang!" Susan said happily, making her way to the door.

Teatime crossed his arms in agitation.

_What kind of a name is _Lobsang_, anyway?_

Jonathon really needed to find a better insult. If that even counts as one.

*

"Hachoo!" Lobsang sneezed as the door swung open.

"Bless you," Susan said dryly, raising a brow.

"I've been sneezing all day..." he said apologetically, stepping into the apartment. He was rather surprised when he walked into a black-clad figure, somehow popping up directly in front of him, arms crossed. _Surprised_, since Jonathon Teatime had most certainly _not _been there before.

Now Lobsang was a tall individual. The man before him was _not, _and the Lord of Time towered over the Assassin easily. But somehow the icy, dark glare with those horrible, mismatched eyes combined with his elegant, tall posture made Teatime _seem _like he was over six feet to whoever he happened to be glaring at (and anyone else who had the misfortune of seeing said glare). And really, how tall someone _feels _is all that matters.

Lobsang, however, wasn't easily intimidated, and merely glowered back at the Assassin before him. He'd never liked Assassins. Maybe it had something to do with his background in Thievery. For whatever reason, they both simply glared at one another, when Susan coughed politely. And even then they didn't stop.

Susan started to chew her lip. Perhaps tea together _hadn't _been such a good idea.

Maybe she should ask Teatime to go on one of his walks...? No, he'd mope and feel 'dejected', and she'd never hear the end of it. Not to mention, one Lord of Time's body might pop up somewhere on the streets shortly after she'd finished her tea. Teatime _had _once insinuated that he might kill for the jealousy of her... Susan shook her head. She shouldn't be having these thoughts about the man who was technically her boyfriend.

_If you didn't want to be thinking such things,_ said a little voice in her head, _you _probably _should have picked a DIFFERENT BLOODY BOYFRIEND._

No going back now, she supposed.

Susan grabbed Teatime's arm.

"Would you please help me steep the tea," she said as she dragged him into the kitchen.

It really wasn't a question.

"I really am sure you could handle it yourself, Susan," he said thoughtfully once they reached the kitchen.

"Yes, but when I came back I'd find two dead bodies," she grumbled.

"What did you say?" he asked curiously.

"Nothing. Get the cups please."

Teatime stepped, popped up at the other side of the kitchen, grabbed a few teacups, then appeared beside her with the stoneware. Susan was finally getting used to his 'shifting', as he called it, and didn't jump once. It was still unnerving, though.

While he was popping up all over the place like one of those toys with those animals that you had to hammer down randomly, she pulled out the teabags. By the time she was done he was back, and Susan ordered him to finish up while she brought the sugar and milk out to the small 'dining room' section of the living area.

Stepping outside the arch, she gave Lobsang a small smile as she set the tea necessities on the round table. He was sitting in one of the padded wooden chairs, _glowering_.

"How have things been for you, Lobsang?" she asked curiously, sitting across from him.

"_Honestly, _Susan, an _Assassin?_"

"Yes, Teatime was an Assassin since he was..." she counted on her fingers, "about nine years old, and though he insists he still is, he really hasn't been for a good four months now. The problem being...?"

"He's actually _killed _people!"

"And you've stolen from poor grannies," she pointed out.

If it had been Teatime, he would have called out 'have not!' if it had been something that agitated him, or simply agreed matter-of-factly if it hadn't. Lobsang was not Teatime.

"I _don't _steal from grannies. Anymore."

"Gotcha. He doesn't kill anymore..." she paused, "I _hope _not, at least," the schoolteacher added as an afterthought.

Teatime started to come in through the arch in the kitchen, the teacups on a tray. He was staring at them intently, moving gracefully and uncharacteristically slowly as he attempted to keep them from sloshing. He was actually doing pretty darn well.

"You shouldn't have to _hope_. You should _know _with someone who is supposed to be such a major part of your—"

"What are we discussing?" Teatime asked coolly, sitting down slowly. Lobsang closed his mouth quickly, took a cup, and started furiously shoveling sugar into it.

"Assassins and Thieves," Susan explained.

_No, I'm not a thief madam. But if I were, I'd be the kind to steal fire from the gods_.

Susan almost laughed as he remembered that conversation, over three years ago when they had been adversaries. In a way they still were, but on a much different battlefield (ah, love!).

_We've already got fire._

_There must be an upgrade by now._

Teatime raised a brow.

"Such a... _distasteful_...topic."

"_Assassins?_" Lobsang asked.

"Actually, I was rather thinking _Thieves_."

Susan sighed in exasperation. This was going to be a _long _evening.

"Hachoo!" Lobsang called, and Susan started to feel dizzy.

It was like her life was playing backwards, but so fast she couldn't quite comprehend it. The world was spinning (or was it her head...?), and she was feeling queasy. The world started to turn whiter, and whiter, and whiter... and then she hit the floor with a thud, feeling _terribly _nauseous.

Slowly, the schoolteacher lifted her head. Where was she?

Oh no. Not _the_ _Toothfairy's Castle!_

Yes, most definitely, here she was in the Castle once more. How she'd gotten here, she wasn't quite sure, but at least she knew the way back. Susan glanced around quickly, saw no one, stood, and was surprised to see a very intimidating Assassin standing before her. He'd come out of _nowhere_.

"Teatime," she said, catching her breath. "You surprised me."

"You got it right," he said in awe. Susan blinked.

"I've been getting it right for a while now, at your insistence," she said, a little confused. Now he blinked.

Suddenly, Susan felt a cold blade at her throat. She hadn't even seen a blur.

"Teatime," she growled incorrectly, "you're breaking the rules."

Oh yes, together they had established three rules each:

**SUSAN'S RULES:**

** A. No holding her at knife point. EVER.**

** B. No killing without her express permission.**

** C. She wouldn't tell Death where he was right off the bat, but it was up to him to hide (expired; Death didn't want to bring Teatime's soul back to the Land of the Dead anymore. Or perhaps he **_**wanted **_**to, but he wouldn't for Susan's sake).**

**TEATIME'S RULES:**

**A. No calling him 'teatime' under **_**any**_** circumstances.**

** B. He reserves the right to **_**threaten **_**and **_**intimidate**_**.**

**C. He's proven he'll watch her back—she has to watch his.**

**GOLDEN RULE:**

** A. If either of them breaks any of the rules, the other gets to break one of their choice. **

It had been a very big ordeal, one that both of them had put a good deal of thought in. So when Teatime blinked once more, and said—

"What rules?"

—Susan was thoroughly shocked.

"_The rules. _I don't call you 'teatime', you don't hold me at knife-point..."

"You are talking as if we have met," he said.

"Of course we've met!" Susan called in shock. "I'm your bloody _girlfriend_, for goodness sake!"

"Girlfriend...?" he said thoughtfully, trying the word on his tongue. "I've no memory of making your acquaintance. Are you sure you haven't confused me with someone else?"

"Jonathon, this had gone on for long enough. _Stop it_."

He blinked.

"How do you know my name?"

"You TOLD ME!"

"What else did I... _tell you?_"

"Teatime..." she growled dangerously.

"You really _are _very interesting..." he sighed, "...but I'm afraid I have work to do and you will be a terrible distraction."

She knew the look in his eyes, saw the change in the muscles of his knife-arm. He was about to kill her. And he wasn't kidding.

"Marly!" she called quickly, her voice full of worry and shock and confusion, but she knew saying that name would buy her time.

She was right. Teatime froze, and besides the fact he wasn't moving (_at all_) if you didn't know him like Susan did you wouldn't tell the difference in his posture... but she could, and she saw that her attempt had hit home.

"What. Did. You. Just. Say?" it wasn't angry, or dark, just quiet, and surprised, each word almost a separate sentence.

"Marly," she repeated. "Your sister."

"Who told you that?" he asked coldly, pressing his knife deeper into her neck, stepping forwards and forcing her back as he almost broke her skin. "_I _most certainly didn't."

"Work..." Susan said, remembering what he had said earlier, "you have _work?_ But you haven't..."

Then she remembered what Lobsang had said.

..._My powers have been very erratic..._

"What _day _is today?" Susan asked slowly.

Teatime blinked.

"It's the night before Hogswatch," he said in surprise. Didn't _everyone _know that?

"And you wouldn't be trying to... to kill the Hogfather, would you?" she managed through her shock, but only barely.

Teatime looked even more surprised, if that was possible. He didn't even have to respond for her to know the answer—his face said it all."

"Oh bollocks," she huffed.

**A/N: Review! Review! Review!**


	2. Congratulations

**Author's Notes:**** Thank you so much for those of you who have reviewed--this chapter wouldn't be up if you hadn't. Remember that, all you readers of my stories! If I'm behind, drop a review asking for more and it's sure to come ;-) **

**Thank you also for sticking with this. I'm sorry it's taken me so long... I've been working on my own original works and have been terribly busy of late. I hope this chapter was worth the wait.**

**Oh, and YOU MUST read and REVIEW _Welcome to Death's Domain _by Purple Peanutbutter. It's absurd, but it's hysterical, and she won't post anything else up (and she's got some _great stuff coming) until she gets some reviews. Trust me, you won't regret it._**

**Here ya're; Susan gets knocked out, Teatime and Lobsang argue, and someone says 'congratulations' (surprise, surprise).  
**

Chapter Two

Congratulations

Lobsang hadn't registered that Susan was gone before he felt the knife at his throat, Teatime's mismatched black-and-white eyes only a few inches from his face and glaring at him coldly.

"Where is Susan?" he asked darkly.

"How should I know?" Lobsang answered defiantly.

"_I _most certainly didn't do anything with her. Now please do answer."

"You'd break Susan's rule," the Lord of Time pointed out, glancing at his knife.

Teatime blinked, slightly hurt that Susan had shared their special rules with someone else. He didn't let it show in his voice.

"Susan isn't here, is she?" he asked softly. "Trust me, I hold no reservations in the _slightest _to killing you—in fact, it'd be a weight off my shoulders—, and I will, unless you tell me _where Susan is._"

Lobsang considered stopping time for a second or two, but whatever he thought about Teatime, he deserved to know what had happened to his girlfriend. It was about then that Lobsang realized he didn't quite know what had happened to her himself. Worry flashed through his eyes, and the Assassin (who was very good at noticing such things) mistook it to be for his own life. A boyish, dark grin spread across his face as he waited for Lobsang to continue.

"I don't know where she is, but... remember how I said my powers have been erratic?"

Teatime nodded.

"Well, when I sneezed I accidentally sent her somewhen."

"When when?"

"A then when."

"Not will-be when?"

"A then when."

"But _when _then?"

Lobsang shrugged. Teatime sat back, taking his knife from the Lord of Time's throat. It'd probably been stupid threatening someone who could stop time, but Susan often clouded his judgment. At least now he had some information, and he probably could have killed Lobsang before he finished snapping anyway. His powers hadn't been working well, either.

"It could be any time..." Lobsang said, beginning to realize the direness of the situation. "From the end of the Disc to her first Hogswatch and beyond."

Teatime started thinking about the most memorable of all his Hogswatches—the day he'd first met Susan. What a wonderful (if sad failure of a) day; it had been so challenging and intriguing. The first time he'd ever died, too. The Assassin almost smiled at the thought. Yes, he had once resented the fact that he was the only person ever to be killed _twice_, but later he had found some comfort in the other fact that he was probably the only person ever to come _back _from death _at all_, let alone _twice_.

Strangely enough, as he thought of that day, a foggy, three-year-old memory emerged.

_ "You really are very interesting... but I'm afraid I have work to do and you will be a terrible distraction."_

Susan.

But what came after that? _He couldn't remember_. That was saying something, considering what a sharp recollection he had.

"She's at Hogswatch," the Assassin said, iron gaze focusing downwards and to the left.

"What do you mean?" Lobsang called in confusion.

"_The _Hogswatch, three years ago."

"How do you know?"

"I remember it... but as it goes; new memories keep popping into my head," Teatime said, eyes searching left and right as he sat straight, trying to make sense of all the distant memories jumbled in his mind. "I am remembering it as it happens. But I have no control over it!"

"What is going on?!" Lobsang yelled.

"I'm going to kill her!" Teatime called out worriedly, standing straight as his face contorted in a way that the Lord of Time had never seen before. He didn't know, but that look was probably the closest equivalent to fear that Jonathon Teatime could experience.

"Don't you dare!" Lobsang growled.

The Assassin sighed, relaxing slightly. "She mentioned Marly. How very clever of her."

"Mentioned _who?_"

"Oh dear," Teatime said, sinking down and shaking his head, "this is most... _irritating_."

"_What is?!_"

Lobsang _hated _not being able to do anything. Strangely enough, Teatime felt exactly the same way. Perhaps the two of them were more alike than they would admit. Or maybe they were just completely different in every single way except for how they happened to be feeling right now.

*

Only now did she realize exactly where—or, more precisely, _when—_she was, and, quite frankly, it probably would have scared the wits out of her. But Susan didn't get scared—she got _angry_. So as the passionate feeling welled up in her, she tried to find somewhere to direct it. Teatime was the obvious target, she supposed, but this was pure, calculated _rage_. Did she really want to unleash this on the man she loved?

Then again, she didn't love him yet. They hadn't set their rules, they hadn't fixed the Unseen University, he didn't even know who she _was _yet. A sudden stab of grief staunched her flow of anger, and she slacked, pressing a hand to her heart and leaning into the wall. _He didn't love her_.

"I'm sorry," Teatime's odd, high voice chimed, "but I think we'll have to finish this conversation at another time."

Something struck her chin, and everything turned black as she fell into the wall. Teatime pinned her shoulder up against it, keeping her from sliding to the ground as he examined her quizzically.

"You really are very intriguing," he said thoughtfully, shaking his head before he lifted her up and carried her to his associates.

Down the hall, down the staircase, through the door. It was taking too long and Teatime skipped a few feet of space between strides. At last, he reached the room where Mr. Sydney was attempting (most disappointingly unsuccessfully—and he was supposed to be his _friend, _too) to enchant the teeth. Once there, he promptly dropped Susan to the hard, marble floor without so much as bending down. The resulting muffled _fwump_ was the only sign that he had entered, and five heads swerved in his direction.

"Who's she?" Medium Dave asked, jerking his head towards Susan.

Teatime pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"Do any of you know?"

Five heads shook apprehensively.

"Oh. Shame." Slowly, he turned to Mr. Sydney. "Are you sure you don't know who she is?"

"Um, well, it seems that... well, maybe, she..." he glanced down nervously as he continued to mumble incomprehensibly.

Teatime leaned forwards until his face was a foot or so from the wizard's, even though he was standing ten feet away. The Laws of Physics freaked out, and made him pop up directly in front of Mr. Sydney for simplicity's sake. The wizard glanced up, and his eyes widened, but he otherwise hid his shock. Or at least restrained the urge to start _screaming_.

"...I might I have some idea," he finished, ending his mumbling with a helpless shrug and nervous smile.

"I've had to ask myself," Teatime said, steel gaze unflinching and chilling. "How many people with white hair and a black streak, not to mention rather Gothic attire, _are _there in the Disc? But if my theory is correct, I'd expect a wizard to recognize her."

"Death's granddaughter?" Sydney squeaked.

Glancing down and to the left with his terrifying, black and white eyes, Teatime nodded slowly.

_The question appears to be then, _he thought thoughtfully, _how does she know who _I _am?_

"I thought so. Tie her up, then, and put her somewhere out of the way. We really must finish our work here, mustn't we? And do blindfold her. I don't want to underestimate Susan Sto-Helit."

*

As Susan's eyes fluttered open, she felt rough ropes tight around her wrists and legs, and the blackness wouldn't edge away. She was _blindfolded_.

_Damn that ever-anticipating Teatime! _she cursed. He hardly ever did underestimate her, did he?

She rolled her eyes. What a sentimental _idiot _she was. This was evil-assassin, Hogfather-killing _Tea_time; not the Teatime who had died and spent months contemplating the meaning of life. She couldn't let her guard down around him again.

Susan felt a slight twinge of sadness, wishing that _her _Teatime could be there. She almost laughed at the thought of the old and new Assassin meeting one another, then furrowed her brow. She would have to find a way back home (temporally, rather than physically—to the present and out of the past), but how exactly could she do that? If she were out of the castle, perhaps she could travel through time herself, but here, where there was no death (or Death), she was powerless.

_So, _she thought grimly, _first priority is getting out of these ropes. Then getting out of this castle. Then finding Grandfather. Then getting home. And only THEN can I find out how on the Disc I got here in the first place._

Susan nodded resolutely (even if blindly) as she lied on the floor. Her arms were tied behind her back, of course, so she couldn't chew her way out. But maybe she could arch her back, reach her feet and untie them, and walk away. Of course, that was assuming she was flexible enough.

A polite cough broke her train of thought.

"Who's there!?" Susan called in surprise.

"Six of us, Miss," a shaky, male voice replied. "We're supposed to be quiet."

"Who are you?" the schoolteacher asked, slowly twisting to a sitting position and turning her head in his direction.

"We work for the Toothfairy," another replied helpfully. "We're her guards."

"What exactly are you doing here?" she wondered incredulously.

"Um, we're not sure. They killed everyone else, but for some reason the big guy and the medium-sized guy let us alive."

"Maybe we're special!" another chimed.

Well, that wasn't quite the case. You see, Banjo had been a little confused about the massive slaughter taking place as they invaded the Toothfairy's castle, and had asked his brother to explain. Medium Dave, after several failed attempts, decided to spare a few guard's lives so Banjo would think they _weren't _slaughtering and spare himself the effort of devising a reasonable explanation (since there really wasn't one). He'd knocked out the men, hid them in this out-of-the-way area, tied them up, and let them be. Later, it seemed as good a place as any to dump the Duchess.

Susan raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe," she replied dryly. "Can any of you get this blindfold off me?"

There was a silence.

"Did you _see _that man?" one of them whispered hoarsely, shivering.

"Teatime?" she asked.

"The one with the weird eye who keeps popping up all over the place?"

"_Shifting_," Susan corrected. "And it's a _glass _eye."

There was a silence, one that she couldn't interpret. Sometimes there were awkward silences, sometimes happy ones, now and then companionable silences, and quite commonly in her most sadly _un_normal life a someone-is-sneaking-up-on-you silence; but she couldn't quite label this one. Had Susan not, however, been most inconveniently blindfolded, she would have seen the guards' incredulous and shocked faces at how lightly she'd spoken of the Assassin.

"Yes, I've seen him," she added when the silence continued. "What about him?"

"You aren't _afraid _of him?"

Susan blinked under the cloth over her eyes. No, she'd hadn't been afraid of Teatime in a long time. Then again, _this _Teatime was someone she probably _should_ be afraid of. But _Susan_, _afraid? _Pshaw.

She shook her head.

"Don't get _scared_. Get _angry,_" she corrected.

"Angry?"

"He's had you tied up and kept here for who-knows-how long, killed your comrades, and now you're missing dinner on _Hogswatch night! _It's plain wrong _not _to be angry."

"Even if we weren't tied up ourselves," one of them said, "I doubt _anything _could get passed _him_."

"I have," Susan said plainly. "I've killed him twice."

The toothfairy guards blinked.

"_What?_" they all said together.

Susan sighed.

"Look, if you stay here, he _will _kill you. I'm surprised he hasn't already. But we really have to get out of here, so if you could do something about my blindfold—"

"_How?_" one of them asked.

Susan rolled her eyes.

"I'll get behind your hands, you'll untie it, then we—"

"Why don't we untie your hands instead?" another asked.

"I was getting to that. But first—"

"Yeah," one agreed, "that way _you _could untie your _own _blindfold."

"I just thought—" she tried.

"Why don't we untie each other first?"

"That's a good idea!" another chimed excitedly.

Susan grumbled in agitation.

_If I hadn't already, Teatime, I'd kill_ _you for getting me into this mess! _she growled mentally.

Approximately forty-five minutes later the seven of them were unbound and Susan could see again. Apparently no one had bothered to blindfold _them_.

They were in a square, white room. There were empty display cabinets in the center, which _should _have been filled with teeth, and only one door. Susan marched up to it, swinging it open.

And immediately slammed it shut.

"What is it?" one of the toothfairy-guards asked.

"Teatime was out there," she answered darkly, slowly turning. But by the time she could see behind herself one of the men had already fallen—dead.

_The door. He hadn't had time to get through it. Had he?! _she thought in a panic.

"Hello, my names Teatime. What's yours?"

Apparently he had.

Susan swerved to the other side, seeing another dead body, but no Assassin. Several of the men ran towards the door, but suddenly he was _there_. The toothfairy's guards fell like rain before Susan had enough time to be anything more than shocked. It was, quite literally, a _slaughter_.

And then he was in front of Susan, and the tip of his knife pierced her black dress, stopping just before it slit skin.

"Oh," he said, glancing down at the blade, then back up at her. "I'm terribly sorry. I seem to have gotten... _carried away_."

He grinned boyishly, but Susan just glared. And this wasn't an exasperated glare, or an angry glare, or a you've-gotten-on-my-nerves-one-too-many-times-today glare. No, this was a you-are-pure-evil kind of glare. Any of Susan's glares could most definitely be considered lethal, but this one would send you straight to the gates of hell.

Teatime, however, seemed miraculously unfazed. His knife vanished into his coat somehow, but his fingertips had barely flicked. It was about then he noticed her neck. He traced the thin, spidery scars curiously.

"My, my, my," he said softly, "...what have we here?"

_Teh-ah-tim-eh_, they read. Susan flinched back.

"Don't touch me."

Teatime cocked his head thoughtfully.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he clicked. "So terribly irritable today, Susan." He glanced at the scar again. "How did that get there?"

Susan really didn't feel like explaining. She needed to get _out of here_. But how could she? It's not like she could hit him and run passed. No, she'd tried that before. But maybe, just _maybe—_

Susan raised her fist, and of course he caught it. But, just as Teatime hadn't expected it before, he didn't guess now that her foot would come discretely slamming down onto his. He was surprised for only half a second, but Susan had learned to be quick around said Assassin. That half a second was all she needed to run passed him, out the door and around the nearest corner.

It led to a balcony over looking all the teeth, now glowing blue with Mr. Sydney's spell. This balcony, however, was much lower to the ground than the one that she had pushed Teatime over the edge of. No, if someone leapt off _this _one, they very well _might _survive.

The path continued left and right, but she didn't even consider running any longer. Susan knew very well that she couldn't _dream _of outrunning Teatime (he'd shift beside her without a second thought). Maybe if she could find the right shadow, perhaps she could use those lessons he'd been teaching her before (or after, depending on which chronology you go by). Susan nodded and slid into a corner, blending into the lack of light and stilling her breathing.

_ Be silent, Susan. Silent,_ she thought.

Teatime came passed the turn, glancing around curiously. He slowed his pace, examining the hall as his feet brushed the floor silently.

"Why Susan," he said, "...I'm impressed."

He'd just stepped passed her, and Susan felt she had three options. Leap down off the balcony and either die and appear in the Unseen University (hopefully they'd revive her), become seriously injured and taken captive, or run out the door and make her way to Death's Domain. She could wait for him to finish looking and hope he wouldn't find her, but she knew she only had a short period of time before he discovered her. She couldn't underestimate Teatime. The only other thing she could think of was leap up and pull _his _hair.

_That certainly has its own poetic appeal, _Susan thought, remembering how she'd never had a chance to get back at him for pulling _her _hair (no, knocking him off a balcony and skewering him with a poker just didn't count).

If Susan had Teatime's ability to think a thousand thoughts in half a minute (if not more), then she could have analyzed every single detail and gone through all her options three times. But she didn't, and merely worked with she had. And she _had_ to act—_now._

The schoolteacher leapt up, knotted her hand in the Assassin's thick, blond curls and pulled back _hard_, simultaneously running towards the stairs. He was knocked off his feet as she shot in front of him, but he'd grasped her arm (the one pulling his hair) and swung her around. Her chest slammed into one of the white walls, and though her arm was twisted, she still had his hair.

_This really is most... _inconvenient, Teatime observed.

_This bloody well isn't going my way! _Susan mentally shrieked. She let go of his hair, raised her knee and kicked him hard in the stomach, sending him flying backwards. Susan swerved as he hit the railing and started again for the stairs. The Assassin's thugs weren't by the teeth at the moment.

_Probably unlocking that door with Mr. Brown,_ the schoolteacher thought.

Then Teatime pushed the middle of her back and sent her flying forwards head first, falling into the stairs. Tumbling, somersaulting—the world was spinning around her as the steps came up one at a time, hitting her with more force than if someone had actually been striking her each time. Again and again, whirling, twisting... At last she rolled off the last step, but the world was still shaking. Her head ached and pounded, and every inch of her felt raw and sore.

Even worse, Susan could feel hot blood trickling through her hair and down her face. Everything was blurry with tears of pain as she pulled herself to her feet. Every inch of her wanted to circle around, to find this Assassin so she could slowly back away. But she knew better. No, Susan just ran for the door. She just ran, and hoped to whatever god happened to be listening that Teatime would randomly decide to leave her alone.

But the Assassin was already _there, _arms crossed, barring the way. Susan stopped short, brushing away some of the blood trickling down her face and fighting to keep conscious.

_I'm going to stay awake. I'm going to stay awake, _she chanted, but the world was swimming before her eyes.

"I've been thinking," Susan barely made out Teatime's voice through the ever increasing haze and the sound of blood pounding through her body, "...thinking and trying to label all the reasons that I haven't killed you. I like to think of myself as quite young at heart, curious as a child. That's one reason; I want to know how you know who I am. But I'm not sure how I'm going to figure that out, as you seem quite tight lipped."

He took a step forwards, as Susan tried to keep standing. She was starting to sway, and her eyes kept fluttering. She stumbled backwards.

_I will stay conscious! _she mentally called in determination.

Teatime continued forwards.

"You're also the only person, to date, to evade me this long," he paused his pace, cocking his head thoughtfully before continuing, "...or at all, really. So you're obviously a mystery. But how do I go about solving you? Strangely enough, Miss Sto-Helit, you've actually stumped me."

By now Susan was leaning against the wall for support, trying as hard as she could to stay on her feet. The Assassin leaned forwards, and spoke so softly she could barely hear him.

"..._congratulations_."

*

Teatime was grinning.

"What _now?!_" Lobsang called irritably.

"Oh, Susan just said 'oh bullocks'."

"What about it?" the Lord of Time asked, slightly confused.

"She just sounds so silly when she says that."

It really was an odd look on the Assassin's face. Lobsang shook it off quickly, though.

"We have to go back," Teatime said, turning to Lobsang. "Susan is in terrible danger."

"Why?"

"I'm a terribly dangerous individual, Mr. Ludd. In general, I walk a very fine line between fascinating and infuriating Susan. And when Susan is infuriated, she tends to get... _in the way_. Three years ago Hogswatch, I wouldn't let things get in the way of my job; even the most intriguing woman ever to walk the Disc."

_And _this _is why you should never date a man who used to (or at least _claims _he _used _to) be a psychokiller, _the Lord of Time thought dryly. _You might get sent back in time by a friend of yours while attempting to have tea to a day when he _was.

Lobsang nodded.

"Right then. Shall I send us back, now?"

Teatime nodded.

"How well are your powers working?"

The Lord of Time flared up slightly, he didn't like coming up short in front of _Teatime_, of all people.

"Well enough!" he called defensively.

The Assassin cocked his head.

"..._Good_. Do send me back, then."

Lobsang snapped his fingers grumpily, and Teatime blinked away. He snapped his fingers again, ready to start spinning throughout time.

And again.

And _again._

_It's not working! _he thought worriedly. _I can't let that god-forsaken Assassin go and save Susan from HIMSELF of all people! _He took in a deep breath. _I _really _need to have a talk with Ruth..._


	3. Snowy Night Air

**Author's Notes:**** Well, here's the third chapter at last. Thanks for your reviews and for sticking with my story! I don't know when I'm going to get to the next chapter up, but it will come. On principle, I don't abandon my fics. **

**Once again, I must entreat you to write and post any and all of your Teatime/Susan ideas! I must, must, must read some more--and I've read every single K-T fanfiction centering on them (I'm not exaggerating). You could count them on your fingers. **

**Anyhow, here's chapter three--Teatime (present) buys something suspiciously, Teatime (past) outsmarts himself (barely), and Susan (present)... well, Susan doesn't really do much this chapter. I'm hoping she'll pick up pace soon ;-)  
**

Chapter Three

Snowy Night Air

Teatime was in the middle of a very snowy Ankh-Morpork. The sky was dark, and the streets near deserted, but the air was crisp and sweet and he took in a deep, happy breath. He remembered that Susan was currently unconscious, and in no immediate danger at this very second, so he presumed he had enough time to make two little stops before finally using that round box of sparkly-stuff and getting into the Toothfairy's castle.

Hands in the pocket of his long trenchcoat, he drank in the night as he headed towards a bank, keeping the small spurs of excitement hidden. Fighting against himself—if it came down to that—was just too good a challenge to miss. Of course, his past self thought that too, so he just _knew _he'd be heading for trouble. But trouble could be _fun_.

Teatime scaled up the bank with the grace of a cat, since it was much more interesting than walking around it. Skipping the space between the edge he stood on and the other, he leapt to the ground and rolled as he hit it, breaking his fall. The Assassin stood, grinning as the snow fell from his shoulders and hair like rain.

The door at the back of the bank was plain and unabtrusive, but (like the rest of the bank) it had an excellent lock. Teatime could pick simple locks, and he intended to perfect the process eventually, but at the moment he didn't feel like figuring out the many tumblers. No, instead he unscrewed the hinges on the door with the tip of his knife, wrenched it open outwards, and slid inside through the gap he'd made.

Jonathon was _not _a thief (_never_). At the moment, the Assassin merely wished to access his own account. Unfortunately, the bank was most inconveniently closed at the moment, and he didn't believe he had time to wait for it to open. Lurking through the halls, he reached and unscrewed a few more hinges (keeping the screws in his pocket) and entered the vault.

Exactly how much money he had, he really didn't know. Teatime had never cared for fiscal matters. Money, to him, was only used to keep one's self alive. Food, lodgings—what else _could _it be used for? Susan had seemed surprised when she'd looked herself to see how much he had. Thinking back, he'd really hardly spent anything he'd ever earned. Susan had asked him if he had done just that as her eyes had widened and she'd attempted to keep from staggering back. From several comments Susan had made, however, he had deduced that he had more than $261.74 in the bank (exactly _how _much more he really didn't know, but Susan had seemed to think it was a _lot _more), and counted out exactly that amount. Satisfied, he left the building, rescrewing the hinges as he left. It was quite lucky for him that the owners used such complicated locks. They practically acted like hinges on their own.

Down the street, a couple turns... ah, here he was.

Teatime used his knife to pry the window on the side open, and slid inside. He glanced at the display desks and smiled in satisfaction before walking around, grasping two particular boxes, and leaving precisely $115.35 on the desk. He was _not _a thief.

Now, however, it was time to return to the Toothfairy's castle. If he knew Susan—and he was pretty sure he did—things would start heating up soon. At least he had those two boxes. That ought to calm her down. For thirty seconds, at least.

*

Well, she'd already used her punching-while-stomping-on-the-foot trick once. It probably wouldn't work again, knowing Teatime's amazing ability to actually _learn _from his mistakes. You'd be surprised how rare that was.

The world was still swimming, twisting, and otherwise contorting in most unsettling ways. Her head still felt light and Teatime was still doing that really annoying lean-two-inches-from-your-face routine he just loved. Susan had never really understood _why_ he enjoyed doing it so much; perhaps he knew how unnerving it could be.

"Of course I've no greater goal in life," she replied sarcastically, though her voice was much quieter than she had wanted it to be. She had lost a lot of blood.

Teatime blinked (so slowly), then cocked his head (so slowly), and finally dropped his eyes to the scars on her neck (so slowly).

"I really _would _like to know where that came from."

"Why should I tell you?"

"Have you ever heard the story of the pied piper?" he asked softly.

"The one where a village gets some piper to play some music and drown the rats in the pond?" she asked coolly.

"...and when they refused to pay him, he entranced and drowned their children in it?"

"From my recollection he only took them away to travel with him."

"Different versions," he said dismissively. "The point I'm trying to get across, Susan, is that at the moment, I've all the power of the pied piper and more. I could line them all up and march them off the edge of the Disc if I wanted."

"You wouldn't _dare!_" she growled, turning the bits of pure panic welling up inside her into the much more comfortable, much more familiar, _rage_.

The Assassin grinned boyishly.

"Want to find out?" he flicked his head towards the glowing teeth. "Keep in mind, Susan, people have been giving their teeth to the Toothfairy for years and years. I'm sure some of them have even grown up. Think of _all _the people piled up over there..."

He was trying to unnerve her, to make her tremble, she could tell. And damn it all, it was almost working. _Almost_.

The sound of something hitting the marble floor echoed throughout the room. Teatime's head snapped in that direction, and Susan tried to slide left passed him. Unfortunately, his peripheral vision was just as good now as it would be in three years and he caught her left arm roughly, though he didn't bother to turn to her.

"No, no, no," Teatime said softly. "I don't think so. Wait here."

And he slid off in a blur. Susan was about to run, when her heart lurched, her blood pulsed and she fell back into the wall. She took in a deep breath. She needed to find a doctor, or someone, or _something—_she didn't know what would happen to her otherwise.

She peeled her eyes open, and was more than surprised to see _Teatime _right in front of her.

"What was that noise?"

"Nothing of consequence," he said with a grin.

She narrowed her eyes.

"You're lying."

Susan was actually starting to be able to pinpoint his untruths. He smirked, tilting his head.

"I'm glad you can tell."

"Wait a minute—" she started. There was something distinctly _different _about the way he was looking at her—

Teatime's smirk widened to a grin and he leaned forwards and kissed her warmly. He pulled back and touched her bloody forehead.

"I'm terribly sorry I pushed you down the stairs, Susan."

She sighed in relief, relaxing into the wall. It was nice to have _her _Teatime back. But then she started to feel a little confused—yes, he was definitely the Teatime she'd grown to know and love, but he was still the same man. A few years ago (or right now, depending on how you count past and present) he _would _have killed all those guards, and even worse, she wasn't sure if he would feel bad about doing so now.

"We'd better go," he said softly. "I'm watching us right now and I'm afraid I'm going to do something... _dreadful _if we don't leave immediately."

Contemplation of Teatime's moral character (if he even _had _one) could wait until later. Susan nodded, grasping his arm for support and the Assassin stepped towards the door, skipping halfway across. Of course, _past _Teatime was there to meet them.

"I really am curious," the Past Assassin said, "exactly who are you?"

Present Teatime grinned.

"My name's Teatime—" he started.

Past Teatime returned the gesture.

"—what's yours?" the Past Assassin finished.

Susan stumbled even though she wasn't even moving. She found that terribly pathetic.

"Jonathon," she managed, "please get me out of here."

He wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her up effortlessly. For the second time in his life he was surprised by how light she was.

"For your own good, please let me pass," Present Teatime asked Past Teatime.

"Is that a... _threat?_" he asked. He looked terribly amused.

"No, but keeping in mind I'm _you, _and I want to get passed you, in a few years you will wish precisely the same thing. In that case, by stepping aside, you'll only be helping... _yourself_."

Present Teatime looked equally amused.

"Exactly how and when will I meet her?" the Past Assassin asked, gesturing towards Susan.

"Tonight. She tried to stop me."

"And she survived?"

"Actually, she killed _me_."

"Oh dear," Past Teatime said thoughtfully. "I find that very hard to believe."

"I had the same trouble," Present Teatime agreed thoughtfully, nodding. "The poker coming out of my chest convinced me, though," he added as an afterthought.

"A poker? How very creative. The only thing I could think of that would be more so would be a kettle."

"She tried that," Present Teatime grinned.

"As much as I'd hate to interrupt you both," Susan mumbled, "_please _can we go now?"

"But I have so many questions!" Past Teatime sounded a little disappointed.

"Oh dear," Present Teatime sighed. "You're not going to let us out easily, are you?" he shook his head sadly. Susan slumped further into him. Teatime (present) glanced at her, realizing she was unconscious again. He swung her up into his arms and stepped in front of himself. "Please let me past."

"This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, though. When will I get to fight myself again?"

Present Teatime cocked his head thoughtfully.

"It really is a shame, isn't it? But I did say _please, _and Susan needs help."

"I don't see how that _matters_. She is very interesting, but I don't see—"

"You will."

Past Teatime nodded slowly, cocked his head and touched Susan's cheek.

"You actually kissed her," he observed. "Why?"

"You'll see soon enough."

Past Teatime nodded again, and stepped aside.

"You can go, I suppose. I'll just have to wait until she shows up."

"I'll most gladly go, when you give me back the strand of hair you just took."

Past Teatime grinned mischievously, offering the white strand.

"Can't fool myself, can I?"

"I should hope not," Present Teatime said.

Teatime brushed passed his past self and entered the child's painting. Susan was limp against him, and he was quite a gory sight himself, with her blood in his hair, on his prized Assassin's attire, even on one of his hands. But, though it'd been a good while since his last Assassination, he was used to being covered in blood and it didn't bother him. What _did _bother him was his knowledge of said blood; people needed it, and if they lost too much it would mean their death. He wasn't about to let Susan die, though. But how could he get her treated? Where could he go? Who could actually help her?

He was, in fact, so worried that he didn't remember that his past self had taken _two _hairs, one black, one white, and had placed the black along with the teeth in the Toothfairy's castle.

But Teatime didn't know this, so he just grinned. He knew where to go.

*

When Susan awoke she had a throbbing headache, a bruised ego (who goes unconscious _twice _in one night? Or—even worse—what character faints twice in two chapters?), and a confused expression plastered to her face. Teatime was leaning over her grinning, and she could see she was in some red room. His thick curls blocked everything else.

"Where am I?" she asked apprehensively. "And which Teatime are you?"

"I'm yours, Susan. This is the Unseen University. They fixed your head."

She nodded slowly, then regretted it as her head spun some more.

"I have something for you, Susan," he said excitedly, and pulled out two pretty boxes. She sat up—_slowly—_and took one curiously.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Why don't youfind..._ out?_"

She rolled her eyes and she lifted the lid. The slightest trace of a smile graced her lips.

"_Chocolate...?!_"

"I knew you'd like it."

Susan slowly reached in, grabbed a single piece, lifted it to her lips and took the tiniest bite of the tiniest corner. Her face loosened and conformed with bliss and she sighed.

"Chocolate..." the schoolteacher moaned.

Teatime leaned back against the wall. He liked seeing Susan so happy.

She took another bite, placed the chocolate back in the box, and glanced up at him.

"How long was I out?"

"Not very long," he said dismissively. "But Susan, you're going to come here soon with that oh-god-of-hangovers, aren't you? Wouldn't it be _fun _to see what you have to say?"

"Trust me, Teatime, I'm not going to be any 'fun' tonight."

"Oh, I find that hard to believe," he touched her gently on the forehead, where she'd been bleeding earlier. "How does your head feel?" he asked softly.

"Like its about to explode," she groaned. "But at least it isn't _burning _anymore. It's just a little ach-ee."

"I'm glad."

Susan raised a brow.

"_Glad...?_" she asked.

"That you're feeling better," he elaborated.

"Oh."

She glanced around quickly, as if to see if no one was watching, and took another piece of chocolate. The Assassin reached for a piece discreetly, and was slightly surprised when Susan's hand clamped down on his, keeping him from reaching it. He looked up to see her _glaring_. Teatime pouted.

"Oh, alright, if you're going to _be _like that," she grumbled. "_Help yourself!_"

He glanced at the chocolate and sighed longingly. He didn't like it as much as Susan did anyway, and he just _knew _there'd be hell to pay if he took her up on her offer.

"I don't really need any," Teatime said, terribly unenthusiastically. He stood and started heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" Susan asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes.

Teatime turned around halfway, grinning.

"I thought I'd leave you two alone and explore a bit. I've only been here once before, and, quite sadly, I had to leave rather abruptly."

Susan raised a brow, remembering _exactly _where he had gone.

"I'll join you in a few minutes, then."

"_If _you can find me," he grinned, then slipped out the door almost faster than she could blink—and much faster than she could call out a snide remark. Susan rolled her eyes, glanced around nervously once more, and took another bite of chocolate.

Suddenly, she had a terribly unexplainable urge to stand. Strangely enough, she found herself walking through several walls to the alley outside. A few seconds later and she found Binky, outside of the Unseen University in the snow-covered road. The next thing she knew she was riding up into the snowy night air, still without the smallest notion _why_.


	4. Past! meets Present!

**Author's Notes: Sorry that this took so long and is so pathetically short. I'm a bit stuck. Reviews give me inspiration, though! **

Chapter Four

Past! Meets Present! Or Present! Meets Past! Whatever.

At last, Susan reached the Toothfairy's castle. And she was furious. Not being in control – not knowing why she was doing something bewildered and angered her (since she just didn't get frightened). Of course, she really wasn't in control when it came to Teatime, and she didn't know _why _she bothered putting up with him (yes, he did have that curly hair, and that boyish smile, and he could be sweet, and he was ingenious, and creative, and an excellent conversationalist once you got him going, but he was also a big pain in the neck seventy-three percent of the time), but for some reason he was different (ah, love!).

So why _was _she here?

Susan entered the castle, not surprised to see Past!Teatime staring intently at his first finger and thumb, which were pressed together as he sat (crossed legged) in front of the teeth. It was amazing how little it took to entertain him, but then she supposed that made up for his amazingly short attention span. He glanced up and grinned brightly.

"Hi, Susan! I'm so glad you're finally here. Waiting can be so very..._ tedious_."

And then it hit her. _That's _why she was here! _TO BURN HIM ALIVE!_

Of course, that presented one problem. As much as she wanted to be rid of him (in the most brutal, painful, and at-_her_-hands way), she strangely enough wanted to keep _her _Jonathon. And if she was rid of _this _Jonathon, he never would become hers. This loop was causing her a serious headache and mental meltdown, so her brain was occupied for a few seconds and she didn't bother to reply to the Assassin.

Teatime stood in a black blur, somehow standing up directly beside her even though he hadn't taken a step and had been across the room before. He gazed at her face curiously, not very far away. Susan took a rough step back as he spoke.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, obviously yearning to know.

_That's one of his complexes, _she thought. _He just _has _to know everything. _That was one of Susan's, too, but she would never admit it.

"Burning you alive," she replied honestly, if only to see how he would react.

Teatime cocked his head, pursing his lips thoughtfully.

"That sounds terribly unpleasant."

"It's meant to be," she explained.

"But it's not so creative. I liked it better when you were going to skewer me with a poker."

"I did try to push you off a balcony once," she offered.

"Hmm..." he shook his head. "Burning me alive was a bit better than that." He grinned, "Though I doubt anything can beat the kettle!"

"That hasn't even happened yet!" she humphed.

Teatime very slowly shook his head again.

"Why do you hate me so much now, but like me so much later?" he really did sound honestly confused.

"What makes you think I like you later?" she called defensively.

"I kissed you, and you didn't seem to mind. If _I _kissed you _now, _I'm sure you scoop out my brains and give my eyes to Quoth."

How he knew about Quoth, she really couldn't guess.

But he really just didn't get it, did he? He was totally and utterly clueless despite his genius of the nuances of being human. How Teatime-ish. It would have been cute, if he were _her_ Teatime who hadn't killed in a very long time (well, at least not unless it was in self-or-Susan-defense), rather than the one who'd just slaughtered a castle full of guards. It was so confusing, hating someone so much, yet loving them so much. There were those eyes—those terrifying black and white eyes she'd come to love. That boyish grin, those bright curls, the high, off, and quirky voice that almost made her want to (god forbid) giggle. But it just wasn't right. It _was _him, but it _wasn't_, too.

"You're a much better person later," she settled with stiffly.

"Oh dear!" he looked thoroughly horrified. "Please don't tell me I develop morals!"

Susan raised a brow.

"The day _you _develop morals, Teatime," she said dryly, "will be the day pigs fly."

Jonathan only looked more confused.

"Hogswatch?"

Susan blinked, realizing her mistake.

"Um..." she shuffled uncomfortably. "I didn't mean that. No, you haven't and never will, but you don't kill people as soon as look at them anymore."

But his attention had already shifted, he was already deep in another train of thought.

"Susan, how _do _they fly?" he asked distantly, staring down and to the left at nothing. "Is it a manifestation of belief? Or are they their own breed of creature, separate from hogs?"

"I'm pretty sure it's a manifestation of belief," Susan confirmed, a little curious herself. She'd never really given it much thought—it'd always had just... _been_. "But you understand that well, with all your shifting and this whole kill-the-Hogfather escapade."

"Yes, I truly do. But how can we know for _sure? _It's such a shame I had to be rid of him before I could find out."

Susan humphed in exasperation.

"But what about your grandfather, Susan? Is _he _a manifestation of belief?"

"What?"

"Is he only there because people believe in him? What if people stopped believing in him? Would there be no death—or Death, either?"

"No, my granddad—" she paused. _Was _he? "If that's so, then the very first person wouldn't have died. People wouldn't have died for a long time until someone invented death, but who would come up with something like that? Beside, if people didn't die they wouldn't know what skeleton looked like, and wouldn't have come up with my grandfather in the first place."

"That is a good point," Teatime agreed, nodding. "But what if just death – not Death – was real, and then people were trying to explain it? A skeleton with a scythe coming to take your soul is as good an explanation as any."

"Very true," Susan mused. "But I just can't imagine my grandfather not being _there_."

"This discussion somehow reminds me of the chicken/egg debate," the Assassin mentioned idly. "Which do you think came first?"

"The egg, of course," she replied. "You can't have an end without a beginning."

"But the _egg _needs a beginning," Teatime argued. "That's where the chicken comes in."

*

Present!Teatime pulled the one box of chocolates that he'd managed to sneak out Susan's recovery room. He only wanted a couple pieces, and she wouldn't notice if he took them before she even reached the second box, right? He was just about to eat some, when he heard Susan's footsteps.

_But that can't be right, _he thought in confusion. _She's still eating chocolate and resting. _

But there was no mistaking the impatient get-out-of-my-way sound of the schoolteacher's rough, long strides. She was definitely coming. Teatime grinned—he was surprised; now it was time to return the favor.

The Assassin slid into the shadows, breathing so lightly that it was completely unnoticeable. Susan rounded the corner, her hair tangling in and out of itself. He loved how lively her hair was—one of the many things he loved about Susan. It only took him a hundred-and-twentieth of a second to note that before he grabbed arm, slammed her into the wall and he kissed her.

"Hi, Susan!"

He was rather surprised when one bony, sharp knee jabbed up between his legs and she slid around him.

"Pervert!" she shrieked. "Accoster!"

The other words that started coming out of her mouth as she pulled her fist back and attempted to slap him really aren't worth repeating. The Assassin was surprised that she would do so, as she should have learned by now that that was impossible.

_She must be Past!Susan, _he realized.

That didn't stop him from catching her arm and slamming her against the wall again, though.

"Oh dear," he said softly as she began to scream at him again. "You haven't met me yet... I really am terribly sorry." He tried to think of a way to make it up to her. "Would you like some chocolate?"

He offered her the box hopefully.


End file.
